Sketches in Black
by Mistress 259
Summary: A series of short character sketches from varying POV's. Rating due to first fic, but remaining fics in series will be PG-13. Not a happy collection.
1. Sketch One Behind the Facade

**Warnings**: I use the _Hunter's Guide_ spellings for characters' names (see my bio page for details). Also, this fic is rated for adult content. 

**Author's Notes**: Knowledge of _Hunter x Hunter_ is necessary. This fic is part of a series of short fics and is not related to my other my " x x " series or to _Hunt for the Intangible._

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**Sketch One** - **Behind the Facade**

He stopped living that horrific day five years ago.

The sun rose and set. Spring brought new life, and winter laid it to rest. People awoke in the morning, went about their business, and retired at night. Families dined together, lovers lay together.

The world continued to turn, oblivious to the decimation of an entire race of people.

There were no living Kuruta remaining, for the only one to physically survive the genocide was an empty shell of a human. He had stopped living long ago, existing only to avenge his murdered kin. There was no joy to living, no pleasure in existence, so he considered himself dead, the last casualty of the mass murder five years ago.

He avoided people when he could. He felt uneasy among them, for they were all vibrant and enthusiastic about living. They reminded him of how unlike them he was. Occasionally, though, one would pull him into the world of flesh and blood. He saw no reason to fight these adults who were driven by their hormones, though, for these were the only times that he remembered that he still had a physical vessel. Without the pain, he might forget that he was real, and that he had a mission to accomplish.

As time went on, he became deadened to the pain. And even his anger and hatred began to fade. But he couldn't let that happen. They were the only emotions he allowed himself, and if they left him, he would cease to exist.

So he stares at the enemy, now free of the chains but void of his nen and the right to see his subordinates. He stares at the infuriatingly calm face, at the bold tattoo, at the dark clothing. The man seems almost normal, and he has to wonder what would drive such a man to annihilate an entire race. He asks, then, not really expecting an answer. But the man does answer, responding that it was the only way to get the Eyes. And at the time, he wanted the Eyes.

It's a sickeningly straightforward answer. And it shows him that they are not that unalike. The man feels nothing, not hatred, not pity, not empathy for the ones he's killed. The man lacks real emotions. And so does he.

The man stares at him in return, comments on his appearance. He knows that he doesn't look like someone who could kill a man nearly twice his size. The man is impressed.

He also recognizes something else lurking in the man's gaze. And since he is feeling empty, thwarted, waiting to release his enemy in exchange for his few friends, he lets the man approach him. The man smiles, but there is no warmth behind it. And their contact creates warmth, but there is no reality to it. The only reality is the pain and the brief moment of pleasure that the man draws out of him.

The pleasure is a new sensation. Perhaps it is the partner, or his comparative physical maturity, or the surreal aura surrounding the whole situation. Still, it is a minor thing.

And when it is all over, there is still pain, for the man has been exceedingly violent and forceful, and he has also raked sharp nails down his stomach, perhaps in compensation for not being able to attack him with nen. The man stares clinically at the torn skin, prodding and drawing more blood. The man laughs and stands, saying that he is relieved. The man had almost convinced himself that he was a lifeless doll, not really made of flesh and blood.

He is struck by the irony of the statement, for he felt the same about the man. He brings his knees together and stands, too, and they regard each other expressionlessly. They dress in silence and maintain the silence until the airship finally lands.

He watches as the enemy escapes his grasps. His torn skin still throbs, but it reminds him that he still lives. He watches as his young friends approach, their freedom gained at a cost. It will take much out of him to renew his quest.

But he doesn't know if he still has it in him to continue the mission. The few emotions he has remaining are fading. And he is weary.

Yet, it is all strangely fitting, that even the anger and hatred within him should eventually die.

After all, he died on that horrific day five years ago.

And he knew of no way to bring back the dead.


	2. Sketch Two From Darkness

**Warnings:** I use the _Hunter's Guide_ spellings for characters' names (see my bio page for details). Also, this fic is rated for violence. 

**Author's Notes**: Knowledge of _Hunter x Hunter_ is necessary. Spoilers. This fic is part of a series of short fics and is not related to my other my " x x " series or to _Hunt for the Intangible._

**Sketch Two** - **From Darkness**

He was raised in darkness.

No light made its way into his early days, days of electricity and poison, of bruises and torn skin. He came close to death countless times, but he was always drawn back, away from the light and back into the darkness.

And he continued to be close to death. To cause it. Repeatedly and mercilessly, for he was not taught mercy. He was taught to strangle, to slash, to remove the beating heart, but never to think of the ones he killed. He was taught to strike terror into his victims' souls, but never to feel anything himself.

For he was a doll. A cold, heartless doll.

He was the chosen one, heir to a throne built of bones upon the backs of rotting corpses. And he stood before that throne, surveying the aftermath caused by his family at the behest of others. He watched the targets fall, and he felt nothing. Vital organs failed within his fingers, and blood oozed from between them, but he felt nothing.

They expected him to take the throne some day and extend the bloody reign of his family. His grandfather, his parents, his eldest brother, they all knew that he was the one. The one destined to become the best. The best at killing, at destroying lives, at causing anguish in the ones left behind. And he accepted that role without question for the longest time.

Because darkness was all he knew, all that he was shown. He knew of no other existence.

But things change. One day, he decides that he is not a doll. He will not do as he is expected, as he is commanded. So he leaves the dark mountain dwelling, leaving behind a screaming mother and a cursing brother. He leaves and walks among strangers, strangers he can ignore, for they are not targets. He has no specific goal in mind. He is simply relieved to be away and on his own.

On a whim, he takes an exam and meets one unlike any he has encountered before. This boy is his age, but they are yin and yang, night and day. This boy smiles sincerely, laughs enthusiastically, and yells fiercely when he is angry.

All of this is new. Anger is new, too, for he never felt anger, nor hatred for his victims. But this boy feels anger. This boy feels many things strongly. And he confronts powerful enemies when someone is wronged. This boy feels for others.

He learns that there is another way, a way besides living in darkness. This boy takes his hand and pulls him forward forcefully, further and further into the light. Everywhere that he is led, there is joy and excitement and compassion. There is light.

Then he learns that it's not the destinations that are full of light. It is the boy himself. Light radiates from his tiny body, a blinding life force that warms everything it touches. See. Here, the boy begins to thaw the frozen heart of a suffering survivor bent on vengeance. There, he touches the heart of the enemy and earns her gratitude, unforgotten even after her death. And again, here, the boy brings hope where there is none, convinced that his wounded friend has defeated the monster and still lives.

This boy is light. His eldest brother is right; the boy is blinding. But he is tired of the darkness, and he reaches for the light, a weary moth seeking solace. He basks in its glow and hopes that it will never cease to shine on him.

For he can no longer return to the dark mountain dwelling. His father said that he would always be welcome to return, once he wearied of the outside world. But the world is his home now. The world beneath blue skies and bright sunshine.

He must never go back.

He is afraid of the dark now.


	3. Sketch Three Love and Fear

Warnings: I use the _Hunter's Guide_ spellings for characters' names (see my bio page for details). Also, this fic is rated for violence. 

**Author's Notes**: Knowledge of _Hunter x Hunter_ is necessary. Spoilers. This fic is part of a series of short fics and is not related to my " x x " series or to _Hunt for the Intangible._

**Sketch Three –Love and Fear**

Boys will always leave.

It was a fact she learned early, when the cousin she loved and idolized left the island for the unknown world. For what, he wouldn't say beyond the fact that there was something he wanted. Something that he wouldn't be able to get on the tiny island.

And so he left.

And time passed. A decade passed. And he finally returned. To her complete surprise, he carried in his arms an infant. A boy with dark hair as wild as her cousin's, and with large, intelligent eyes.

And he left yet again, this time leaving behind a piece of himself in the form of a son.

She loved his son, and despite her youth, she raised him as her own. She fed him, clothed him, nurtured him, educated him. And she feared the future. She feared the moment when he would follow in his footsteps. For he was so much like his father. More than he could know.

And that moment did come. All too soon.

Once again, she watched as a boy she loved left the island for parts unknown. To face dangers she didn't want to imagine. To become a man.

So much like his father.

And yet, not entirely.

The boy called her several weeks after his departure, sounding confident and happy. He had achieved his first goal, and he had a new friend. He had wanted to share his excitement with her. He had wanted to let her know that he was alive.

And several months later, he surprised her again by returning. With a friend in tow. For several blissful weeks, he was her little boy again. She cooked for him. Prepared the bath for him. Did his laundry.

She was happy.

But he was his father's son. She knew it could not last.

She watched him leave again, determined to find that father he resembled so much. Determined to achieve the goal he had set for himself.

Too much like his father. He simply could not stay put. The island was too small for him.

But she had hope. For his father, the goal was most important. More important than the loved ones he left behind. But this boy, he would return.

Because for this boy, her little boy, love was the most important thing of all.

And so she didn't stop him, secure in the knowledge that though the stays might be short and few, her boy would always call this place home. As long as he was alive and able, he would return to her.

Boys always leave, but as long as a cold, silent box never appeared at her door, she would wait.

And so she waited.


End file.
